


slipping through my fingers

by somcthingwitty



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: ALSO -- i may have tagged this as supercorp relationship but it's honestly vagu, Alternate Universe - No Powers, BECAUSE I WANT LENA TO HAVE A GOOD MOTHER DAMMIT, F/F, Gen, I have the mother daughter relationship tag doesn't imply the other side of the coin LOL, Mother-Daughter Relationship, POV First Person, but really this is more of a ?? fix on lena and lillian's relationship, really vague, so pls don't scream at me, that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 11:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19250302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somcthingwitty/pseuds/somcthingwitty
Summary: Lillian first meets Lena when she's four.She misses a lot and soon enough, she finds Lena slipping through her fingers.





	slipping through my fingers

**Author's Note:**

> This piece came up while I'm writing the third chapter of my WIP. I'm honestly not used to writing in first pov, but I feel like, it's the perfect pov for this particular piece and I hope that it'll be appreciated by you, readers, like how I appreciated it to a certain level. Anyway, I've been listening to Abba's Slipping Through my Fingers on repeat for the past week and i'm just----- UGHHH I want Lena to have a good mom. ]]]: so, i gave her one. slightly good. but, you know. Hehe. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Written at 9PM. So all mistakes are mine! Like I said, I'm not used in writing first pov, so if there are mistakes in verb tenses and stuff, I'm sorry! I tried my best to proofread. 
> 
> Enjoy! ♥

I first met her when she was four.

She is just a small, little girl holding her teddy bear as a source of comfort while standing in a new place – a scary place, I believe. Lionel has always had a knack of the _classy_ , muted colors – wooden things and curly edges. He believed it to be the perfect representation of his wealth and his honor.

I am sure that Lena is scared of the towering pillars and the giant doors – not only because of how small she is, but because – well, I’d be scared, too, if I am a child taken away from the loving arms and home of my mother and placed into a dull mansion with three strangers living in it.

I look down at her, meeting those huge, round eyes, which reflect innocence and hope. I know she is wondering if I will be just like her mother. I know that she’s wondering if I’ll tuck her in bed later and tell her a bedtime story. I know that she’s wondering if I’ll make her favorite breakfast in the morning and laugh softly when I see the mess that she makes on the table.

I _know_ that I will do none of those things. I never did it with my own son, Lex, so why should I do it with this girl? With this child, who is a product of my husband’s infidelity?

She clasps her teddy a little tighter to her body as if sensing my displeasure at seeing such a childish reminder of her previous home. That somehow infuriates me even more – to see her so scared of me. How dare she, when I should be the one who’s scared of her? When she’s obviously favored by my husband in the way he’s holding her little hand so tenderly? In how he’s speaking to her softly as he introduces me to her.

_“She’ll be your new mother, Lena. She is Lillian.”_

She’s just a child, I try to remind myself, but it’s hard to keep my heart from hardening when she smiles up to me and tenses in a way that makes me think that she’s wondering if she’s allowed to hug me or not.

She’s not, and I let her know that by lifting an eyebrow and turning my head slightly to the side to look at my husband.

He simply looks back at me – dares me to say something – and of course, I do not. I’m just the wife of Lionel Luthor. Who am I to defy him?

 _“Go to her_ ,” Lionel says again, and I feel myself freeze in place.

Don’t touch me.

She does. She takes little steps towards me and reaches out for my hand to wrap her little fingers around mine.

She looks up at me again and tilts her head to the side.

It’s only now that I remember how I’ve forgotten how it feels like to hold something so small, so vulnerable, so fragile and so precious in my hand. My fingers twitch, they turn, and then they hold Lena’s little hand in their own.

Lena smiles up at me.

In return, I take away her teddy bear.

“You don’t need this anymore.”

Lena frowns, looking at her teddy longingly. So, I throw it away.

“I’m your mother now, and you will only play with the toys that I give you.”

Lena’s eyes are reddening and tearing up, and I feel my heart break just a little for this girl who’s had the misfortune to be put in my family.

“Understand?”

Lena sniffles and nods.

 

\--

 

It doesn’t take long for me to realize that while Lena takes so much after her mother’s undeniable beauty, she takes so much more of Lionel’s brains than Lex does. It’s a bitter pill that I have to swallow when Lena finishes her first grade in school and receives the highest remarks in her class.

The plan was for Lionel to take a short leave from his office and be with Lena during the awarding ceremony, but an important investor from Japan finally had the time to meet him, and as always, when it is the highest bidder demanding attention, there’s nothing more important for Lionel but his business.

So, I go in his stead.

I stand there, uncomfortable and feeling so out of place. All around me, parents are beaming and oozing with pride for their children – even if they’re at the second or third rank. It’s something that I wouldn’t have been able to stomach – imagining Lex in second place. No. It’s simply not something a Luthor should achieve.

A Luthor should always be first and above everyone else.

And Lena, dear little Lena, is proving to be worthy of the Luthor name.

Her name gets called, and she climbs up the stage, ready to receive her medal. Now it’s time for me to follow and put that medal around her neck.

She looks at me expectantly and the urge to turn away and leave is so strong that it takes so much of my will to stay put and walk forward instead.

I join her on the stage, she smiles up at me, and I return it for the sake of her teachers and the cameras pointed at us.

I put the medal around her neck, looking so big above her little chest.

“Smile for the camera,” she says, and I bristle silently. I know what to do. She doesn’t have to tell me what to do.

Still, I look at the camera in front of us and shows a closed-lip smile while Lena shows all of her perfect, white teeth.

It’s the most that she’ll get from me.

 

\--

 

There are times when Lionel decides to take Lex with him on business trips, so there’s only me and Lena left at home.

Routine is important, and Lena isn’t spared from that.

In the morning, she wakes up and fixes herself without the aid of anyone else at ten years old – something I begrudgingly admit as admirable since Lex only stopped needing his butler’s assistance at thirteen.

She ties her own hair and puts a light layer of baby powder on her face – _to keep myself cool!_ – and joins me at the dining area looking so proud of herself. She knows not to ask what’s for breakfast; knows that whatever is served before her is what she’s going to get.

Just for her invincibility, I always give her an extra tall glass of milk. Lena always likes the slim glass with purple swirls. God knows why. Lex has always been the type to use the plain ones – but of course, plain for the Luthor household still means extravagant for the common people.

I always watch her quietly while nursing my own glass of coffee. I’ve long since corrected her tendency to get syrup all over her mouth. It bothers me that a mother would allow her child to eat so messily. Now, she eats with the gracefulness of a young lady, as she should. She keeps her table cloth on her lap instead of underneath her chin. She eats without putting her elbows on the table.

She eats like a Luthor.

A small part of me is proud of that.

\--

Lena’s leaving for boarding school.

It was my decision.

After Lionel’s death, I suddenly can’t find it in myself to stomach the sight of Lena in my house. Lex supports my decision, knowing the advantages of being a product of Ireland’s top-performing boarding school.

I’m glad that he thinks so, too.

While Lex has Lena’s future in mind, all I knew is that I want her out of my house.

I want her out of my life.

This girl – this young girl, my husband’s daughter from another woman – has somehow burrowed a hole in my heart and placed herself there permanently and I hate it.

I hate it so much.

I do not like remembering the nights when I found myself tucking Lena in bed without giving her bedtime stories. She gave up after the second try.

_“Bedtime stories are for children. You’re not a child anymore, Lena. You need to act like your age.”_

She was six years old then.

I do not like remembering the breakfasts with just the two of us, the peaceful harmony of eating each other’s meal in the morning. I do not like remembering the moments by the door, giving her a curt wave of goodbye as she gets into the car. I’ll always insist that it’s only because the school bus happens to pass by at the same time as she’s leaving for school, as well. Appearances are important.

I do not like remembering the times when I found myself indulging Lena’s knack for adventures – for tireless running around the backyard when she should be studying for the next day. The only reason why I gave in was that she’d finished all her assignments.

Lena was too smart. Too smart that she somehow managed to _make me_ love her.

And I hated that.

So, I told her to leave.

The night before she has to leave for Ireland, I heard quiet sobs in her room. It makes my eyebrows twitch. I dislike the sound of crying so much. It annoys me. It’s irksome. Crying is for people who aren’t Luthor’s. Crying is for the weak.

But Lena’s crying, and I couldn’t find it in myself to barge into her room and reprimand her.

She’s leaving after all. She’s leaving the only family she knows.

So, I take four steps away from the door and takes the same path again as noisily as I could to let her know that I’m coming.

I never walk that loudly. Everyone knows that.

Lena knows that.

So, I knock three times and open the door slowly, allowing Lena to see me without crossing the threshold.

She looks much better. Eyes dry. Nose slightly red, but that could have been because of the cold weather. She has a book in her hand. Her bags are arranged near her drawers.

I look back at her. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes, mother,” she replies quietly, meeting my eyes without delay.

I nod and close the door slowly, but stop midway when I hear her call me again.

“Yes?” I turn back, eyebrow raised.

She looks at me quietly, mouth closing and opening slightly as if wanting to say something.

“Speak, Lena,” I grumble. “You’re wasting my time.”

That seems to snap her out of her thoughts, and she recoils into her bed.

“It’s nothing,” she raises her head and rearranges the book on her lap. “Good night.”

 _Hm._ “Very well,” I nod and starts closing the door again. “Good night.”

The next day, Lena leaves with two bags in tow and a small pouch in her hand.

The pouch isn’t hers.

 

\--

 

Lena’s gone for most of her teenage and young adult years. During which, I put my focus back on Lex. He’s excelling as the successor of his father, as expected of him, but something goes wrong. At one point, he loses his sight as the perfect CEO of LuthorCorp and starts messing with the funds of the company.

The investigation reveals that he’s been donating money to questionable organizations, aiding to crimes and distribution of drugs, and as I look at him as he scowls at the judge, probably not knowing how he’d been found when he’s a genius who never fails at covering his track, I wonder just where my son went.

I wonder who’s the man standing before me, his hands cuffed, and his head bald because, apparently, he wanted to make sure that no trace of drugs will be found in his system during the test.

I stand from the bench and turn my back on him. I walk out of the courtroom, hearing people snicker behind my back as they make fun of Lex and his hairless body.

 

\--

 

Perhaps, something good comes out of Lex’s imprisonment. Lena has just gotten her second Ph.D., and she’s come back to take over LuthorCorp.

The night she arrives home, she walks straight up to me and tells me that she’ll be making major changes in the company. She’ll be making it a force for good. She’ll be transferring the company to National City.

She will be changing it to L-Corp.

“ _And I was the one who gave the tip to the FBI._ ”

_“Why were you never mentioned during the trial?”_

_“Money can get you anything, mother, and that includes anonymity during such events.”_

“ _How dare you.”_

_“How dare I what? Help them imprison a criminal?”_

I will be honest. Perhaps, I’m a little bit impressed.

Smart and precise, just like a Luthor.

Who would have thought that Lex’s favorite sister would be the cause of his end as a businessman?

Still, the bitterness over losing my son lingers, and I resort to ignoring her for the next coming years.

 _“Change the company. Change everything as you will, but know this – I will not help you in your endeavors. Most of the board members are very loyal to Lex. Good luck convincing them to back up your new mission for the company_.”

She leaves that night, looking determined to prove me wrong, and as I quietly watch her leave –

A small part of me does pray that she proves me wrong.

 

\--

 

Lena meets a journalist.

A journalist, of all people.

While I’d sworn not to involve myself in Lena’s mission to change the company, I hadn’t completely pulled myself out of her life.

The first time they meet, it’d been during Lena’s speech regarding the company. That day, Lena almost died, and I nearly took back my words about my involvement.

But miracles do happen, and she comes out safe of the explosion, all thanks to the journalist, it appears.

 _A journalist, of all people_.

 

\--

 

I visit her one day, not expecting the journalist to be there. She stumbles over her words, fiddles with her glasses, and yet despite all that, she stands in front of Lena, her stance protective and seemingly ready to jump into a fight on Lena’s behalf.

I look at Lena over the journalist’s shoulder, quirking an eyebrow.

Lena simply replies in the same manner.

 

\--

 

_“A journalist, really?”_

_“What of it?”_

_“You could do better.”_

_“This is none of your business, mother. Whatever you think is there between Kara and me, it is not.”_

_“Hm,” I hum. “I never said anything about_ **it**.”

“ _You implied it.”_

_“Where is Jack?”_

_“Back in Metropolis.”_

_“Hm. Shame.”_

_\--_

I watched Lena eventually fall for the journalist.

Every fiber in my being opposes the odd pair.

Lena should be dating someone of the same stature as her. She should be dating someone who knows the life surrounded by business. She should be dating someone who’ll know the struggles of late nights and early mornings – or, sleepless days.

But no, she’s dating a journalist who uses her as a source every now and then.

She’s dating a journalist who never stops stumbling over her words, who never stops fiddling with her glasses. She’s dating a journalist who eats like a four-year-old kid. She’s dating a journalist who seems untroubled by the idea of being seen in public with Lena. She’s dating a journalist who takes her hand when someone’s bombarding her with questions regarding Lex. She’s dating a journalist who kisses her forehead when things are too tough for someone as strong as Lena Luthor. She’s dating a journalist who couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of Lena.

She’s dating a journalist who… loves her.

And just like that, I can already see Lena slipping through my fingers. Just like that, I see Lena, the young child who sought my warmth and affection, disappearing from my reach because she has someone who can give her all that without any conditions or reservations.

It’s curious, this surge of sadness in me – a melancholic feeling I never felt for Lex.

I ignore it.

It’s nothing.

It’s Lena, the bastard daughter of my dead husband.

I do not care.

 

\--

Lena comes to me one summer night to give me a card.

I tilt my head up and emphasizes my wordless question with a simple quirk of my eyebrow.

“I don’t know if you watch the news,” she begins and I see her throat bob. “But I’m getting married this coming first week of July. Whether you come or not, the wedding will happen.”

“So why bother inviting me?”

She falls in silence. We both fall in silence as she places the card quietly on my desk.

“Because you’re my mother.”

And she turns to leave, slipping through my fingers just like that.

 

\--

 

The wedding happens on the third day of July.

I’m not sure if there’s a significance to the date, but despite myself, I end up dressing in my most impeccable attire fit for a wedding.

A man in an incredible tux ushers me to the room of the bride and I falter in my steps, not knowing if I should be seeing Lena before her actual wedding or not.

I’ve never attended a wedding before other than mine, and even my wedding had been more of a formality than anything else.

I stand before the door quietly, looking it up and down without letting my eyes linger on the word written in cursive on the door – _Bride_.

Knocking should be easy. It’s something that’s been ingrained in my character since I was a child. It should be easy.

So, I lift my hand and knock three times.

For the first time in my life, I wait for the permission to enter, and when given by a soft voice from the other side of the door, I twist the knob and cross the threshold slowly.

There, I see the woman who’s become of the young child brought to my home with nothing but a small bag on her back and a teddy bear on her arm. She’s sitting in front of her vanity, looking like the ever-blooming bride that she is, and hesitate for a moment when I see the necklace around her neck.

Pearls.

The pearls I gave her the night before she left for Ireland. The same pearls she brought with her inside that pouch.

She’s wearing it.

When she finally acknowledges my presence by meeting my gaze through the mirror, I let the door close quietly, unable to keep my eyes away from the pearls gracing her neck at that very moment.

“I also wore it when I graduated high school and college,” she says quietly, hesitantly, unsure. “I want to wear it as well for this day.”

It was the same pearls that my mother gave me on the day of my wedding. It was the pearls that signified my necessary unity with Lionel.

To find out that Lena, the child I never truly admitted to having learned how to love, have worn something I gave her as my meager way of comforting her during such important events in her life –

It triggers the tears from my eyes and I nearly scoff at myself.

Luthor’s don’t cry.

I’m a Luthor.

I shouldn’t be crying.

But Lena has pushed off of her chair and turned to me, wrapped her arms around me and sobbed into my shoulder. The unfamiliar warmth should be enough for me to push her away, and yet I find myself hugging her back.

My hand moves up and down her back on their own accord, and the other goes to hold the back of her head tenderly so as to not mess the neat bun on top of it.

I breathe in shakily, gathers all the strength for the both of us, and slowly pushes away because – emotional or not – hugs aren’t a staple in my life. They never were.

“Do not cry,” I reprimand softly for the first time. “You’ll mess your makeup.”

She chuckles softly and gingerly dabs her fingers on the wet tracks on her cheeks. _Oh_ , her foundation has been messed up.

_Tsk._

“Sit down,” I command, still softly, and she does without being told twice.

I pick up the foundation and work on her cheek quietly, gently, and reapply the subtle layer of blush on her cheeks.

After making sure that she’s all ready to be a bride, I slowly lower myself on the counter in front of her and looks at her face intently, takes in the changes it’s undergone since the very first time I met as a child.

Lena has grown up. I’ve missed a lot. She’s grown up.

“I’m happy for you,” I say in lieu of the three words that I know I feel for her, yet never admitted. “I really am.”

Her lips quiver as she tries not to smile too much while also fighting the fresh tears from her eyes. I click my tongue and warns her, playfully, that is, by tapping my fingers against her cheeks again. She simply laughs and reaches for my hands, holds them in hers.

“I love you, mother.”

My chest swells.

I respond by leaning down and kissing her forehead.

“Lena? It’s time—oh.”

We turn to the newcomer and I straighten upon recognizing the journalist’s sister.

“Is everything all right?” The detective asks Lena. I can’t blame her for that.

I turn to Lena, asks her the same question by lifting an eyebrow, and she smiles up at me in return before turning to the detective.

“Everything’s fine.”

She squeezes my hand.

“Everything’s great.”

\--

 

That day, I watch her slip through my fingers completely and land into the hands of that journalist.

But as she passes by me as they walk down the aisle after the pronouncement, she stops and squeezes my hand again.

At that moment, I know that it is a chance given to me to make up for my past mistakes.

It’s another chance to enter her world –

It’s a chance I will not let go.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think?
> 
> i'm also on tumblr! @somcthingwitty


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